


Darling

by spockulative



Series: Darling [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Troopers - Freeform, F/M, Romance, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockulative/pseuds/spockulative
Summary: My dear reader,Are you ready for an adventure? A sweeping romance of galactic proportions?Whether or not this is that remains to be determined, but let me set the stage for you.The Clone Wars have been raging for nigh on two years. Everyone is feeling spread rather thin, like not enough butter over too much bread. And you, dear reader, have joined the Grand Army of the Republic.
Relationships: CC-2237 | Odd Ball/Original Character(s)
Series: Darling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197134
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my fanfic tumblr sideblog, I decided to post it on AO3 as well. :) I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.

My dear reader,

Are you ready for an adventure? A sweeping romance of galactic proportions?

Whether or not this is that remains to be determined, but let me set the stage for you.

The Clone Wars have been raging for nigh on two years. Everyone is feeling spread rather thin, like not enough butter over too much bread. And you, dear reader, have joined the Grand Army of the Republic.

It’s not in an official capacity, really. You’re not trained for combat. But you are good at communications; you know where wires should go and you’re half-decent at codebreaking. And the Republic is growing desperate.

So there you are, your small bag of personal possessions in hand, looking around at the rather bleak room the nameless, faceless trooper showed you to. Perhaps you should have asked his name, but you were feeling very overwhelmed, and he was obviously in a hurry. So you didn’t.

You set your bag at the foot of your bunk and proceed to inspect the small room.

There isn’t much to inspect. A bunk bed, two desks and chairs, and an attached refresher with two of everything. You wander through the door on the other end of the refresher, and find another room, mirror to your own. Other than the bare furniture, it is completely empty. You shut the door and return to your own room.

You choose the bottom bunk and begin to unpack your meagre possessions. You find a small closet, nearly hidden behind the door. There’s a couple of spare uniforms , some hygiene products, and blanket placed on the shelves. Not much else. You put your things away and take out the map that was given to you. You decide that you should probably at least figure out where you should be when the time comes for your first shift. Your stomach growls, then. You weren’t able to eat this morning, for the nerves. And now your body is protesting.

As you sit on your bunk, staring at the map and weighing the relative merits of finding the messhall, where you would be working, and simply laying on your bunk and having a good cry, there is a knock on your door.

You open it to find another clone trooper—or, perhaps it is the same one—standing before you. His helmet stares at you impassively.

“Um.” Were you expected somewhere? “Can I help you?”

He tilts his head, weighing something. “Are you ready for your tour?”

“Tour?”

He’s annoyed, you just know it. He’s _radiating_ annoyance. Why must you be so stupid? Why do you always have to get in everyone’s—

“The tour. Of the ship. So you know where you’re going. You’re new, right? Officer…” he glances at the nameplate by the door. “Darling?” Even through the helmet he sounds confused.

Yep. That’s you.

“That would be me.” There are worse surnames, you console yourself, as you close the door and follow the trooper down the seemingly endless hallways.

He doesn’t talk much, but you can tell he keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye, even with the helmet on. You try to strike up conversation.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

He turns his head fully to look at you then, confusion evident in his body language.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Oh.” He introduces himself as Fold. After some deliberation, you ask if he was the same trooper who originally dropped you off at your quarters. It wasn’t him, but it was one of his friends. You feel terrible for mixing them up, although at least so far they haven’t made it easy for you to tell them apart. You ask him if he always wears his helmet.

“I’m on duty, ma’am.”

You try to remember the regulations that you had signed off on saying that you had read them thoroughly and understood intrinsically. In reality, you had barely skimmed them. (In your defense, it would have taken approximately 3 weeks of reading alone to get through the volumes that had been sent to you. You ran the documents through a word-counter. You know.)

You can’t remember anything about helmets. “So you can’t take it off?”

He hums noncommittally, and tips his helmet towards you again. “Do you want me to take it off?”

You do, actually. The both of you have stopped in the hallway, empty save the two of you. The air feels oddly tense as he reaches up and pulls his bucket off. He gives you a shy smile. You haven’t seen any unhelmeted clone up close before now. He’s very handsome.

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” He rubs the side of his head. “You are too, uh, pretty, I mean.”

You hadn’t realized you had made that comment aloud, and stutter through an explanation, feeling your cheeks heating up. You’re tired, it’s a long day, you normally have a better filter, you weren’t fishing for compliments, and so on. He takes your explanation with good grace, and the tension in the air eases. The rest of the tour goes smoothly, and by the end of it you feel as though you have made a friend.

~*~

What you are gloriously unaware of is that you have been the talk of the ship for the last several cycles, ever since the troopers were informed that some nat-born, civilian contractors would be joining to supplement their efforts. There were bets on how old you were, what you might look like, and even a sabbacc tournament to decide who would get to give you the grand tour of the ship. (This was a gamble in more ways than one, as the troopers had no knowledge yet of who or what their contractors would be—could have been anything from a grumpy old Mon Calamari, to a pretty girl.) (The troopers were hoping for a pretty girl.)

And so, when Misty walked into the room after dropping you off and handed the datapad over to Fold, all eyes were on him, waiting for the verdict. “Well, Fold, you’re one lucky bastard.”

~*~

But while you might come to vaguely suspect these goings-on, you have no way of knowing that nearly half the men on this ship are very invested in seeing you, in meeting you.

You’ve ended the tour at the messhall. It’s a rather late time for dinner, but there are still a few people milling about. You tail Fold and grab food, following his example. Soon enough you have a full tray. Now comes looking for somewhere to eat. You were pretty sure that you and Fold would be eating together, but another soldier flags Fold down, beckoning him to join them.

You’re frozen with indecision. Do you still follow Fold? Or should you find your own place? You look around again. Maybe in that corner? But then one of the men from that same table catches your eye and waves you over. You smile at him, relieved. It’s nice to be included.

~*~

When Oddball first saw you, trailing behind Fold, he thought you were pretty. As he watched you move about, mimicking Fold’s actions, he thought you were adorable. When you stopped, uncertainly surveying the room, he realized you were beautiful. And when you smiled at him, he knew he was done for.

You slipped onto the bench, next to Fold, across from Oddball. Today was a great day for him. He had just finished an excellent training run (he and his squad were still running on the high that only flight can give) and now he could brag about it to you. Would you be impressed? He hoped so.

You were quiet, though, picking at your food and listening to the conversation around you.

You notice him looking at you and you give him another smile. _Kriff,_ it’s even better up close. Oddball didn’t think it was entirely fair, but he pushed that thought aside and tried to make the best impression he could.

“Hi.”

You returned his greeting and introduced yourself. His eyebrows rose. “Your name is Darling?”

You shrug, slightly embarrassed but used to it. “You could say it’s a family heirloom. Got it on my birthday.”

He stares at you for a moment, incredulous, and then begins to laugh.

The trooper next to him is laughing as well. “That’s a good one. I’m Flit. This is Oddball. And that—” he introduces the rest of his squad and you greet them all, desperately trying to remember the names and the nearly identical faces they belong to. It’s not going very well. You know the man next to you is Fold, and Flit is cattycorner, and past him on left is…you forgot already. You resign yourself to this fact and hope that you’ll either be reintroduced at some point reasonably far in the future, or that someone will use his name in conversation.

“So what are you here for?”

That was Oddball. You explain that you’ll be working in communications.

“Maybe we’ll be working together! I’m a pilot.”

You nod and try to process. Will you work with the pilots? You’re not sure if your duties will fall there, but you agree with him anyway. “That could be fun!”

He smiles at you, clearly pleased.

“Hey Darling.” A trooper on Fold’s other side. “You got a boyfriend?” The man next to him sharply elbows him in the ribs. “What? I’m just asking.”

“Um.” You frown. “I’m not sure this is an appropriate topic of conversation.”

“Girlfriend?” Fold elbows him this time, glaring. “Fine! Fine! I won’t ask anymore.”

You press your lips together in an obviously fake smile. You did have a boyfriend. It wasn’t great. You ended it. That wasn’t great either. You try to shift the conversation away from yourself, uncomfortable and tired with all the questions.

“So, Oddball, right?” He nods, overly pleased that you have remembered his name, despite the fact that he was introduced to you minutes earlier. He’s less pleased about the fact that your relationship status is still up in the air. He knows he shouldn’t care—he’s just a clone, after all—but he still wants to know. For a friend, of course.

You ask him about his experiences as a pilot, and you spend over an hour learning about what it’s like being a pilot in the GAR. This is managed both by your prompting questions and the near constant interruptions from the others in his squad, everything from a clarification to a retelling of an embarrassing moment Oddball was obviously trying to leave out of his narrative. It’s heartwarming to see them interact. It makes you think of your family, of your home. You’re suddenly hit with a wave of acute loneliness.

Oddball sees something in your expression, a strange quirk of the mouth, a glimmer of tears in your eyes. He wants to kiss them away. “What’s wrong?”

You come back to reality and the clone looking at you in concern. “Oh.” You smile and swipe at your eyes quickly. “Sorry. You all just remind me of my family.”

Now he’s confused. “We do?”

“Just the way you all…interact, I suppose.” You shrug. “Makes me think of home.” An awkward silence descends. Flit breaks it, announcing that he’s beat and is heading to the barracks. Most elect to join him. Fold stays though, and so does Oddball. You’re glad. Out of all of the men you’ve met, you like them the best so far. You talk amongst the three of you for a bit longer. You’ve long since drained your cup, and you’re still thirsty. You announce that you’re going to refill your glass and ask the two others at your table if they want anything.

They look at you in amazement. “Like, more water? I can at least take your trays.” You reach for the remnants of the meal that have long since been pushed aside, but Oddball beats you to it. He was shocked, at first, that anyone—a nat-born, especially—would offer to wait on him. You were kind. Strange, but kind. He likes you even more.

You grab for the plates as he begins to stack them. He lifts them out of your reach (curse his incredibly long arms) (you know yours are just short) and gets up from the bench. He gives you a triumphant little smirk as he reached for your glass. “I’ll get you some.”

You feel your cheeks begin to heat. “Um, thanks.” He winks as he turns away.

A beep sounds from next to you, and you see Fold check his chrono. “Fekk.” He looks at you. “Not that this isn’t fun, but I’ve got sentry duty tonight. Will you be okay getting back to your room?”

You assure him you’ll be fine, and he nods at you, calls a goodbye to Oddball, grabs his bucket, and leaves. As he steps out the door, you’re acutely aware that that a great deal of time has passed since you first entered the mess. Yours is the only table occupied. Steps approach and Oddball sits in front of you, plunking a full glass of water on the table and pushing it towards you. You smile shyly and take it. “Thanks again.”

He lifts one shoulder in acknowledgement. “’Sno big deal.”

“Still, I appreciate it.” You’ve locked eyes with him. Electricity hums. When he speaks in answer, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

Overcome with sudden shyness, you duck your head and stare down at the water in your cup. You look up at him again, and the moment—whatever it was—has passed. He grins. “Have I told you about my first mission in the Chommel Sector?”

He hasn’t yet. He regales you with several more tales. You get the feeling that he’s stretching the truth a great deal, but other than some casual ribbing here and there you let him have his fun. You also tell him some stories and anecdotes of your own—how you and your brother got yourselves lost in the woods, how when he was a baby he wanted to dip all his food in sauce, and some adventures from your school days.

You tip your glass up to get the last of the water and set it down again. Oddball eyes it. “Do you want some more?”

You shake your head. “I should probably be getting to bed.” You check your chrono and jump. “Stars! It’s that late?” You _really_ need to be getting to bed. You look at Oddball and smile bashfully. “I should go.”

He’s not ready to leave you yet. The time he’s spent in your presence is nothing like he’s felt before, but is reminiscent of the feelings he gets jumping to hyperspace and doing barrel rolls in atmo. He likes it. He doesn’t want it to end.

“I’ll walk you back?”

You hesitate, common sense briefly kicking in. This…whatever is happening…is _wildly_ inappropriate. _Or is it?_ the little voice in your head argues back. _You’ve made a friend, and he’s helping you navigate a ship that still new to you. Nothing weird about that!_

You still have some reservations, but you like what that particular little voice is saying, and decide to listen to it instead of the other ones that are saying it’s a bad idea.

“That’d be great.”

You take out your map and show him. He knows exactly where it is. As you walk, he explains that to him, ships are something of a hobby.

That doesn’t make any sense. You wrinkle your nose. Oddball resists the urge to kiss it. “But. You’re a pilot. How is it a hobby?”

He tells you how being a pilot helps, sure, but he’s interested in all ships, not just the ones he’s able to fly. How they’re constructed. Why they’re constructed the way they are. What makes them run.

You’ve never been particularly interesting in shipbuilding before, but listening to him talk about it makes you think you’ve been missing out. His brown eyes sparkle and he’s gesturing wildly and something about the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles makes you want to see it more.

As you round another corner, you ask him if he’s ever thought about engineering.

He’s confused. “I’m a pilot.”

“Yeah, but like a career change maybe?” As soon as you say it you feel incredibly stupid. He’s a pilot. That’s it.

A pang runs through his chest and he looks away. You’re so sweet, so kind, so hopeful. He’s not sure how to break it to you that he _doesn’t have a choice_. It’s also an unwelcome intrusion of reality in the fantasy world he’s been building for the last several hours. He chews on the inside of his cheek, considering what to say next.

You beat him to it. “Oh. Uh, I’m sorry.” And you are. You really, really are. “After the war, maybe?”

He shrugs, and then looks at you with a sad smile. “Maybe.”

Maybe. It’ll do for now.

All too soon, you’re at your door.

“Well, uh, this is me!” You point unnecessarily at your nameplate over the touchpad.

“So it is.” Oddball takes a step back and places his hands behind his back.

“It was good to meet you, Oddball.”

“Davijaan. My uh, my call sign is Oddball. My name’s Davijaan.”

“Did all the—” if all the clones have _two_ names you’re really _never_ going to be able to keep them straight. You gesture vaguely towards the direction you came from. “Do they all have two names?”

He chuckles. “No. Uh, most names and call signs are the same. It’s just my name’s a little long to say quick on the comms.”

“Guess it’s a good thing my specialty’s comms.”

His smile is dazzling. Before you can talk yourself out of this _very bad idea_ you launch yourself towards him, wrapping your arms around his middle. “It was good to meet you.” Your voice is slightly muffled because your face is smushed against his chest. You can hear his rapid heartbeat. After a moment, you feel him bring his arms up and around you to hug you back. He presses his cheek against your hair. You smell sweet, and like you’ve been traveling all day. Engine exhaust and flowers. It’s not the best combination, but Oddball can’t bring it in himself to care a whit. He tries to memorize everything about this moment. How you smell, how you feel pressed against him, all soft and warm. The rise and fall of your breathing.

You squeeze him one last time and let go. “I think we’re going to be very good friends,” you say, looking up and him and smiling.

Your smile drops when you see the look on his face. The electric hum is back. You lick your lips. He watches you. His gaze flicks back up to your eyes and he begins lowering his head towards yours. You tilt your head to meet him. It feels inevitable, inexorable. Everything has been leading to this. His eyelids are drooping and so are yours and your stomach is swooping and—

The touchpad beeps when your back hits it, startling the both of you. Your eyes fly open. Oddball makes use of his quick reaction time and redirects his hand from cupping your jaw to chucking you gently under the chin. “I think we will too, Darlin’.”

His smile is lopsided and you’re equal parts disappointed and relieved. He steps back to give you room to key your door open, and you do. You walk in, then turn to face him. “Goodnight, Davijaan.”

“Goodnight, Darlin’.” He smiles at you once more, gives a slight bow, and turns to leave.

“See you tomorrow?”

He looks back, eyes sparkling. “Nothin’ could keep me away.”

Maybe you won’t be so lonely after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Who knows? Maybe I'll continue the series?  
> (And yes, I think Odd Ball's name is in fact Oddball, all one word. Canon or lackthereof can fight me.)


End file.
